


These Tired Eyes And Hollow Skin

by geckoholic



Series: author's favorites [4]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Permanent Injury, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Getting Together, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-15 18:24:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8067955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: For the first time since they arrived on earth, Raven and Bellamy aren't fighting for their lives, but recovery is no easy task for two people far too stubborn to admit they even need to recover in the first place. In other words: Wars are easy. It's the peace, after, that's so hard to deal with.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raiindust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiindust/gifts).



> Written for the prompt, _Bellamy & Raven; between S2 and S3. Bellamy being left behind to deal with the guilt of his decision and Clarke's disappearing act, Raven recovering; and the anger that has no undoubtedly built up towards basically everyone on earth. She misses the stars. _ I haven't made up my mind whether I'm assuming the events of S3 still happen after this wraps, probably not, but I'm leaving that up to how you want to interpret it. So that's choose-your-own-adventure, I guess. Ohh, and the painting mentioned in the first scene can be viewed [here](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/c/c2/Walter_Crane_-_Neptune's_Horses_\(1910\).jpg).
> 
> Beta-read by buries. Thank you!! ♥ All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Title is from "Pieces Of Me" by 3 Doors Down.

Raven avoids the trips back to Mount Weather whenever she can, the one occasion she uses her bad leg as an excuse. That works more often than it doesn't, actually; Abby, and Sinclair or whoever's asking will sigh at her, glance down to her leg with something awfully close to pity, and she'll be off the hook. Unless it’s within her skill set, then they’ll insist. Today they took her so she could look for parts to fix a generator. 

Bellamy, on the other hand, goes every single time. Raven always wonders why. He walks the hallways in the mountain with long strides; to anyone else it probably looks authoritative, confident, but to her it looks as if he's fleeing. Like walking faster means he'll be out of here sooner, can leave the ghosts that float past the off-white stone walls where they belong. It's obvious he doesn't want to be here, and still, he can't seem to stay away either. 

Neither of them _wants_ to go. They all do, regardless, for tools and supplies and medication. Hardly anyone volunteers, but no one refuses either. There are too many things here they lack, and they can't get any other way. Ignoring that would be stupid and short-sighted. So they're slowly cataloging the mountain's resources – few enough visits that the Grounders can't suspect them of colonizing, on Lincoln's advice, yet often enough that they're making steady progress. 

The rest of the search party has fanned out through the complex, but Bellamy stuck close, walking a bit ahead of her. Raven wants to catch up with him, reciprocate and keep him company, but knows that she can't. Her legs won't carry her at more than snail's pace; the awkward crawl of a three-legged horse. So she stops moving altogether, braces her hands on her hips, and yells his name, “ _Blake!_ Wait a sec, would you?” 

He freezes and turns, hefts an eyebrow. “What?” 

She didn't plan that far ahead, hasn't thought to invent a reason, an excuse, a conversation to strike up, but she finds there's no need. Even as he's spitting out the word, he's changed direction, and doesn't wait for an explanation before he's walking back towards where she's standing. 

In the clinical glow of the overhead lights, his face is unnaturally light, and maybe that's where the slightly haunted edge to his features comes from. He glances to his left and his right, now and then, like the memories are coming alive in the shadows, threatening to leap at him, or like he's got to watch his step, always expecting to stumble over the bodies that had been cleared out before they first went back here. 

It hits her, then, that for him – and Monty and Harper and Nathan and the others – those bodies had faces. They were living, breathing human beings; people who either stood up for them or put them in their cross-hairs. All Raven knew of them were red skin and blisters, or the hands that strapped her to that table. 

She abandons that train of thought when he's stopping in front of her, arms crossed in front of his chest, eyes silently demanding she tell him why the fuck she's called him back to her. Raven holds his gaze and recalls a conversation she had with Monty a few days ago, about Jasper and his dead girlfriend and the artworks she loved so much, and there's the distraction she'd been grabbling for. 

“I hear there's a gallery in here,” she announces. “I want to see that.” 

His expression is skeptical, and she fully expects him to call her on her shit, point out that they're not here to look at a couple dumb paintings. But he exhales, shrugs, and points down the hallway they came from. “It's on another level. There's an elevator back there.” 

He leads the way, to the elevator and down another hallway, and she follows him quietly. Not once he has he had to orient himself, even though everything looks the same to her. With a twinge in her gut she wonders exactly how much time he spent in here. After a while, his fingers dance across the little plates next to each door, and eventually he hums and opens one of them, positions himself in the doorway with a mock-wave. Raven rolls her eyes as she walks past him. 

The _gallery_ turns out to be more of a store room, lines of simple shelves filled with rolled-up canvases. Some pictures are framed and out in the open, leaning against the walls and the shelves, piled on top of each other. 

“Somehow that looked a lot more impressive in the pictures from the National Gallery that they showed us back in school,” she says, running her fingers over a carved wooden frame. The picture in it shows a row of white horses emerging from what she assumes is the sea, and an old guy with a trident riding one of them in the middle of the fray. “That's pretty.” 

And it is; the lines are simple but effective. She can almost hear the stomping of hooves, imagines what waves crashing to shore might sound like. 

“Poseidon, or Neptune, I think,” Bellamy says, his voice sounding closer within the room than she expected it; he's now standing a few steps behind her, looking at the painting over her shoulder. “Not sure.” 

“Who where they?” she asks, attention still on the painting. 

“Gods of the sea.” He huffs, and she can hear him walking around. Pacing, really – moving because he can't stand to be idle. Or maybe she's projecting, because that's that's what she used to do, when she still could. “One Greek, the other Roman. Almost the same, but not quite.” 

She turns, almost stumbles, too much energy to the movement and it makes her lose her balance. When he takes a step in her direction, reaching out to steady her, she holds up a hand, and he stills. Raven rights herself with the help of a shelf that wobbles precariously under her weight. 

“I want to see the ocean,” she says, in part so they have something to talk about that isn't her bum leg, or the guilt that practically radiates off him every time it draws his attention. But it's also not a lie; she would love to see it some day, imagines it would be a little bit like walking in zero gravity, only that she wouldn't need a space suit. 

Bellamy shrugs, looking dubious. “You can't even swim.” 

“I can learn,” she says. His gaze falls to her leg again, and oh, yes, that might be a hindrance. She juts her chin out at him anyway, stares him down even though he refuses to look back up to meet her eyes. 

He inhales and glances to the door. “We should get back. Standing around to look at dust-covered old art isn't what we're here for.” 

Without waiting for a reply, he walks out into the hallway and back to the elevator, just slow enough that she wouldn't lose sight of him but too fast for her to keep up. 

 

*** 

 

As one of the few people who were allowed to basically _walk_ out of the Ark when it was still in space, Raven finds it jarring that it's a regular thing now. She'll round a corner, and without having to change and prepare, there'll be an exit that releases her out into the sunlight, grass under her feet and the smell of the trees that surround them wafting into her nose. 

Of course, these days, walking itself isn't quite as easy as it used to be. In the past weeks, she's stopped drawing looks with her brace, the people that came down with the Ark becoming accustomed to the sight. They dialed down the pity, too, and that's good, because it hurts more than the pain putting one foot in front of the other brings her now. Raven grits her teeth through both. She stands in front of the metal carcass that is still their home and breathes in the smell of the earth, lets the sun warm her back. Like every child on the Ark, she learned about changing seasons in school. But it was still too much to wrap her head around, when they first came down, that the weather might change, that they'd need blankets when they first arrived, and a mere couple weeks later, she'd sweat in a T-shirt even during the night. 

She lets her eyes roam the bustling activity around camp, each of them having their assigned duties, guards and doctors and teachers, even a few farmers. They still haven't found any of the other stations, but there are children and parents and partners of people who possessed those skills that caught just enough knowledge to hopefully tide them over. It'll be different anyhow, with real earth and seeds that none of them ever dreamed to see, and they'll have to figure it out as they go. She spots Monty on a field by the fence, crouching over a patch of seedlings. She walks over, doing her darnedest to make it a stroll, not an exercise. 

Monty smiles at her when he sees her, stands and wipes his hands on his pant leg. She half expects him to hold one out for her to shake, but he doesn't. She follows his gaze to the seedlings, hardly a few centimeters high, their fragile, curly leaves in some places only just breaking through the earth. There's a metaphor in there, for all of them, their settling in this place, but Raven has no interest in chasing it. 

“Potatoes,” Monty says, following her gaze, pride on his face. “If we get these to grow, we'll plant more.” 

Maybe it should be hard to reconcile the kid that hacked into Mount Weather's security system and helped free them all with the boy that stands in front of her, beaming with excitement about raising vegetables, but it isn’t. Figuring out how to grow greenery rarely gets people killed, so Raven thinks she might just understand why he’d retreat into an activity that is meant to sustain, rather than eradicate. 

Shouts from the gate draw her attention away from Monty's potatoes, and they turn in unison, watching the latest search party from the mountain return. Bellamy marches in front of them, Abby and Kane a little behind, and once again, Raven can't help but seeing a man on the run where others might see a grab for leadership. First to volunteer for each trip; first to rush back home. 

She glances to Monty, and she sees the same ghosts reflected in his face she saw riding on Bellamy's neck the week before. The difference is that Monty has the good sense not to chase them. 

She nudges Monty and points to an empty patch right next to the tiny potatoes, already set and prepared but not showing any green yet. “What are you going to plant there?” 

“Cabbage,” he says, and she doesn't think she imagines the gratitude in his expression when he tears his gaze away from the search party and launches into a ramble about other vegetables they want to cultivate, about trips into the woods to find seeds and adult plants. She doesn't have any idea about gardening, nor does she care, but she listens until he runs out of words. 

 

***

 

Being a mechanic, by and large, involves a fair number of tasks that can be performed sitting down, bent over things with something to brace herself on, or on a sled underneath a car. It _can_ involve a lot of walking around, but it doesn't _have_ to, which is good, because Raven hasn't been much in the mood to try and climb any poles lately. Moving hurts. Moving more hurts more, plain and simple. 

She spends most of her day, every day, sitting at a work station and doing smaller repairs, testing designs, fiddling. She doesn't mind that, at least not until she gets to watch Sinclair and Wick become all excited about something that's installed outside or in the vents, which needs heaving and flexibility, crawling and tiptoeing and all the other things she isn't capable of anymore. Not that she sees much of Wick these days, in general; she sent him away, and for once he actually listened. 

For the last little while, she busied herself with refurbishing the engines of the cars they took from the mountain. The work is a little too simple to keep her mind busy; the cars were likely already outdated by the time the bombs fell, but it's some sort of distraction, a way of feeling useful and needed, and she's not above taking it. 

A few of them are in decent condition, but given that its inhabitants needed space suits to move around outside of their bunker, they've hardly seen any activity for the better part of a hundred years. And engines don't like sitting idle. Raven gets that – neither does she. There's an irony to the fact that all she ever wanted was to walk among the stars, one of the few people on the Ark who never yearned for the ground, and now she's here on Earth and can hardly walk down a patch of grass. The world seems at once larger and smaller than it used to be. The work station is the same. Everything else has changed. 

She's cleaning a valve when the cramping starts. Sinclair is moving boxes behind her, and she can't quite help the small noise of shock and pain that escapes her when the muscles in her bad leg begin to feel like they've turned to solid steel rocks and are now grinding against each other. It's not the first time – mostly it happens at night – but it still knocks the wind straight out of her. 

Sinclair is by her side before she regains her self control, looking out of his depth and so terribly worried. He hovers over her, reaching out a hand more than once but never completing the movement. At least for that, Raven's grateful; he knows her well enough to assume, and rightly so, that physical comfort wouldn't be welcome. She tries to catch her breath, concentrating on the noise of the fan that's doing its best to keep them from boiling in their own skin. She moves to wipe cold sweat from her forehead with the same cloth she's used for the valve, remembers at the last moment that it's full of oil and dirt and grime. She massages the cramp out of her leg even though that makes it hurt more, and when the pain lessens and she looks around, she finds that Sinclair has returned his attention to the boxes, his back turned on her. 

Raven's grateful for that, too. 

 

***

 

The bar is an earth thing. 

They had hideaway watering holes up in space, too, of course. Raven doubts that's a habit humanity could ever be broken out of, but like so many things, they were illegal. Alcohol itself was illegal – unless it was old wine or spirits – and considered a waste of resources. Jasper and Monty could attest to that. But down here, where there's a wealth of certain things and a familiar drought of others, many things are different, and many rules don't apply anymore. 

In the evenings, it seems like half the Ark is here; everyone who's not on duty or has small children to look after. Music is playing on low, provided either by a speaker system they took from the mountain or a piano of the same origin. It kind of rubs her the wrong way that they're taking more than the essential supplies from that place. 

She sits alone by the bar, nursing a cup of cold water. The chill as it goes down helps relieve her of the pressing humidity lingering in the hallways of the Ark at this hour. The metal structure has heated up enough that it's just as hot as the outside, and hotter at night, slower to cool down because of its sheer size. Another sip, and she swallows it slowly, tracing the path of the cold liquid down her throat. Her leg still hurts worse than normal due to the cramping earlier. She ignores the ache; it'll go away. And then it'll happen again, but she's not going to think about that right now. 

At a table to her left, she finds Monty, and Jasper sitting just close enough that they must be aware of each other, but so far that the message is clear to everyone who bothers to look. Jasper downs a shot of something he likely brewed up himself, and Monty follows the movement of his hand as he sets his own cup down on the table with a clang, and he sighs, looks away. Raven catches herself thinking that at least their respective best friend is still alive – it's shitty, but it can be fixed – and instantly feels bad. Other people's problems don't shrink down in size, for them, just because hers are larger by comparison. 

The Blakes and Lincoln, sit on a table to her right. They're all close together, but they're not talking either. Not anymore, Raven assumes; the air they give off is the loud silence after a fight and she doesn't have to do much guesswork as to what that may have been about. The Ark is larger than the dropship camp, but even here Octavia's newfound love of liberty, her not-so-distant plans to leave as soon as they find a place to go that doesn't have a price on Lincoln's head, is the topic of gossip between the remaining delinquents. It doesn't take a lot of guessing to puzzle out how that'd collide with the fact Bellamy's sense of responsibility has recently expanded beyond his sister. 

Raven turns to the bar for a refill, and when her eyes roam the room again, Lincoln and Octavia have left. She sighs, orders a second cup, and heads for the space they vacated. 

He looks up when she puts the cup down in front of him, the metal sweating from the cold water and the heat of the surrounding air. His eyes narrow, one brow lifted in question. 

“It's just water,” she says and pushes the cup further across the table. “Helps with the heat. Little bit, at least.” 

He gapes at the cup like it's the first time in his life he's seen one, then at her. He picks it up, takes a sip, throat working, and gives her a small smile when he sets it back down. They sit in companionable silence for a minutes, until he sighs and braces his arms on the table, head bowed, kneading the muscles in his neck. “What's the matter?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing. I saw you alone and thought we could both use the company.” 

Bellamy squints at her, as if trying to gauge the likelihood of that being bullshit, of whether she might have an agenda, something she wants, but seems to decide that she's telling the truth. He shifts, leaning forward, takes in a breath and rests his chin on his arms. “Don't expect small talk.” 

“Oh please,” she says, snorting. “I've met you, Blake.” 

That earns her another lifted eyebrow and a slightly warmer smile, and she settles back in her chair to resume people-watching, foot of her good leg propped up on the seat and drawn close to her chest, bad leg stretched out under the table. 

 

***

 

Raven's leaving the infirmary after another check-in with Abby – the same result, the same tired advice every time – and smells Jasper's approach before she sees it. The sour stink of alcohol on another person is familiar to her, burned into her memory since childhood, and bound to raise her hackles. She refuses to budge and move out of his way, so he shoulders her out, which leaves her doubly motivated to head after him, try and keep his pace to find out who he’s charging at this time; Raven has her suspicions about that. 

He's marching into the garage when she catches up with him. Breathing hard from anger and exertion, she looks around in an attempt to quickly assess the situation and find out whether she’s right about what – or whom – has him so worked up. Not like that's rare these days; he's got a hair trigger and makes no attempt to keep it in check. 

And sure enough, he's headed straight for Harper and Bellamy, who are sorting food cans from the topmost of a pile of crates. They both take a step back at Jasper's approach, Harper closing the lid and Bellamy opening his mouth to say something, but he doesn't get a chance. Jasper shoves him into the crates, and Raven sees his intake of breath, the way his fists close and uncurl by his side and he screws his eyes shut for a moment. 

“What the fuck,” he says, voice too low, the words pressed out between his teeth. 

Jasper snorts. “Yeah, exactly. Was it you?” 

By now they all know that he doesn't particularly care whether whatever he's pissed about actually _is_ Bellamy's fault. These days, everything is for Jasper. In Clarke's absence he's the only available target to unload his grief, and this isn't the first shot at him he's taken by far. 

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Bellamy says, and he parries another attempted shove by grabbing Jasper's wrist mid-air and wrenching it to the side. 

Jasper struggles to free himself, fails, then huffs with frustration. “My access to the store rooms has been purged. I can't – “

“Bellamy didn’t tell anyone shit,” Raven interrupts him, because she’s heard enough. There's a good and obvious reason he lost his access; a couple days ago he trashed a whole load of clothes and shoes retrieved from the mountain, loudly announcing in the bar later that no one here _deserved_ to profit from _mass murder_. She wasn't around, but she’d heard. Everyone did. She steps forward. Bellamy's attention whips around to her, and he shakes his head, almost imperceptibly, but Raven ignores him and continues to address Jasper instead. “After all the crap you pulled, that was inevitable. No one needed to whisper it into Abby's ear.” 

Jasper stares at her wide-eyed, but doesn't seem to consider her a worthy outlet for his belligerence. He breaks his arm loose with an abrupt lurch to the side and takes a step back. Raven sees his mouth work and then he spits at Bellamy's feet, gives him one last seething glance before he turns around and marches out of the garage. 

 

***

 

That evening at the bar, she's trying something different – juice made from wild berries that grow in the forest, and it's good but a little too sweet, too bitter, too much of everything – and keeps her attention strictly on her cup, not in the mood care for what anyone else is up to tonight. Her head echoes with Abby's words from earlier. It's not like Raven still knows how to hope, but Abby still manages to dash whatever fragile strain of optimism she managed to conjure up between visits, every single time. 

She startles when Bellamy says her name, his voice coming out of nowhere, and she turns to find him with his back leaning on the bar, both arms braced on the counter. “You didn't have to do that.” 

“And yet,” she says, too tired and frustrated to explain herself further. She doesn’t bother to point out how, when someone goes to bat for you, the polite response would be acceptance and a _thank you_. Besides, she's not sure Bellamy's capable of that, letting someone else fight his battles for once. 

“Jasper's volatile,” he says, on an exhale, like this conversation already exhausts him. “He could've hurt you.” 

She turns on her bar stool so she can glare at him better. “Ah, and instead I should've stood by while he's hurting _you_?” 

His gaze snaps up to meet hers. He stares at her blankly for a second before he replies, “I can take care of myself.” 

“Oh, and I can't?” Raven takes in a breath, centering herself in an effort to refrain from pointing out, in great detail, just how full of shit he is. She's certain that he'd find ways to shut Jasper down more effectively if that was what he wanted; instead he’s using these incidents to flay himself, just like he does with the trips back to Mount Weather. “Thanks.” 

He averts his eyes, pushes himself off the bar. “That's not what I said.” 

And even though she doesn't actually expect him to run out on her, not the type to avoid confrontation, much less when _he's_ the one who went to _her_ in the first place, she reaches out with the intent to grip his forearm. She changes her mind halfway through so that it ends up being a simple touch, her palm to his bare skin. It feels wrong somehow, out of place, too gentle in the middle of an argument, but she resists the urge to draw back. 

He looks down at her hand, then up to her face. Raven expects him to step out of reach or shake her off, but he stays in place. 

“I did enjoy cutting him down to size,” she says, filling the silence, and slowly takes her hand away. Stupidly, she mourns the loss of contact almost instantly. “And I'm not the one he wanted to provoke.” 

The reason for that anger needs no acknowledgment. They're both quiet for a moment, until Bellamy braces himself against the bar again, only with his hip this time, and nods at the guy behind the counter. 

“What she had,” he orders once he's caught the bartender's attention, and after a minute or two, a cup for him appears alongside with a refill for her. He sniffs the contents and pulls a face after the first sip. “That is... uh.” 

She raises her own cup at him and shifts, re-balancing herself so she can lean in and nudge his shoulder without the risk of taking a head dive off her stool. “Yeah. I know.” 

 

***

 

One of the differences between the Ark now and the Ark then is that the noises at night have changed. When she woke up to her mom's drunken rambling back in space, or because Finn moved the wrong way and poked her in the ribs because their single cots were too small for two people to sleep on in the first place, the background noise was clean and mechanical. A rhythm that repeats itself at any given interval, programmed and curated. If it ever did fall out of step ,you knew something had gone wrong. 

Earth isn't like that. 

Like everything else down here, the sounds she hears when she wakes at night, her leg cramping so bad that her body goes on high alert and rises her with a jolt, are unpredictable. Wind. Animal cries. Birds chirping, if she wakes up close to sunrise. 

She squints in the dim light that falls in from the hallway. Her crutches sit by the door. Raven tries to go without them if she can; she’s stubborn and dumb, probably, they make walking easier on the bad days. She grits her teeth through another cramp, the muscles in her leg stiff and unyielding, and knows that if she wants to have any hope of moving around tomorrow she'll have to swallow her pride and use the damn things. 

The birds outside keep chirping cheerfully, and Raven curses, feeling mocked by the planet that took so much from her in such a short time frame, and will surely keep taking more and more. She closes her eyes, willing the pain to abate, at least enough so she can have a couple more hours of sleep. 

She doesn't actually expect that to work. 

 

***

 

Every once in a while, and often without discussing it beforehand, what's left of the kids from the dropship camp meets outside the hull of the Ark. They'll gather around a makeshift fireplace surrounded by logs and it's a little bit like how it used to be during those first few weeks. For everyone else, it might be difficult to understand why they'd wanted to recreate the isolation, having to look out for themselves with the barest minimum of supplies, surrounded by an unknowable enemy. She couldn't explain the kind of camaraderie that gets founded in a trial by fire like that; you'd have to have been there. 

Their meeting place is an open secret, and it's not just them anymore. Other young Arkers join in, standing around close by, misunderstanding and taking this for a gathering away from prying eyes. No one bothers to correct them, nor does anyone make an attempt to include them in the original group. 

And so Raven sits with Miller to her right and Monty to her left, arm hooked into his, and watches the flames consume tonight's small stack of fire wood. They don't need the heat; it's for atmosphere, part of the memories. Harper and Monroe are animatedly talking to Octavia on another log, and a third is occupied by Bellamy and Lincoln watching each other out of the corner of their eyes, pointedly not saying a word to one another. The contrast is almost comical. 

A little way off Wick is talking to a girl Raven doesn't recognize in the dark, and she tells herself she doesn't care. They're fiddling with an old music player, trying to connect it to a set of speakers and then hook both to a generator. She looks away and rests her head on Monty's shoulder. Moments later a loud crackling noise announces partial success, and then music's flooding their little gathering. Monroe and Harper squeak in delight and jump off their log, kidnapping Monty and Miller as they run past; Octavia joins them and Lincoln stands and follows without having to be told. Raven watches them dance, sway to the crude beat with more enthusiasm than skill, and she's only a little bit jealous. Wick's got an arm wrapped around his girl, her replacement, tall and whole and giggling in his embrace. She doesn't want him back. It's not like that. She's not even sure she ever really _wanted_ him in the first place. 

“He didn't deserve you anyway,” comes Bellamy's voice from closer than she remembers, and seriously, he needs to stop doing that, sneaking up on her, appearing in her periphery when she's not paying attention. He moved to the log next her hers, and he smiles when their eyes meet, betraying the line as just that; not disingenuous, but not something he'd usually say either. 

“Oh,” she says, smiling back. “Shut up.” Then it occurs to her that only one of them has a brace that prevents her from joining the others, making her a spectator rather than a participant, and she's not the type of person who'd sit on such a revelation. “Why aren't you with them?” 

The smile vanishes from his face. He sighs, rises from the log and turns away from her, before he deems it safe to speak again. “You have to stop doing that.” 

“Doing what?” Raven asks, and she's not pretending; she has no idea what he means. No answer comes forth, and so she gives him an exasperated sigh of her own and heaves herself to a stand. She chases him the few steps he's distanced himself and plants herself in front of him to get into his face. “What the hell are you talking about?” 

He stares at her for a long moment, face hardly more than a silhouette in the dark. “I don't need you fussing.” 

Being so completely clueless about what his problem may have been, Raven didn't exactly have expectations for his reply, but this puts her up short. She's not... is she? She takes in a breath but finds she doesn't have a comeback yet, holds his gaze, inclines her head. Her mouth opens and closes once, before the question flies into her head, more to knock him off track in return than anything else. She's confrontational like that. “Then what do you need?”

He squints down at her like he's not quite sure she's serious, whether he should bother with an honest answer or settle for another quip. The moment stretches out and the expression on his face changes with every blink until he seems to make a decision. His hands land on either side of her hips, gently pulling her up to meet him. It all plays out in front of her in slow motion; she'd have the time to draw back, evade him, push him away. But she doesn't. She wraps an arm around his waist to brace herself in turn, doesn't resist the kiss when it happens; she kisses back, and it's faintly familiar, the taste of him, the way he smells up close. 

It occurs to her belatedly that they're not exactly in private, and she breaks the kiss, looking around for stray bystanders. There aren't any; they're all still preoccupied with the music.

“Not here,” she says, and he nods, takes her hand and leads her away from the fireplace, back to the Ark, into a quiet nook not far from the former airlock that serves as one of the main entrances. 

He pushes her against the warm metal and kisses her again; reaches down to fumble with the buttons of her pants. What follows is fast and not particularly comfortable – she has to balance on her good leg because it's not like she can wrap herself around him like she did in his tent the first time they did this, which makes the position awkward and precarious. And once he starts thrusting she's basically left to cling to him and hold on for dear life – but it's _good_. So good it drives the air straight out of her lungs every time he pushes in, and she comes way too quickly, with both arms wrapped around his neck and her face pressed to his chest to swallow any sounds she might otherwise make. 

 

***

 

Bellamy keeps holding her up a moment longer once they’re done, coming down, catching their breath. He leans in for once last kiss, and then they awkwardly disentangle themselves. 

He stands before her, sorting out his clothes, looking down. “I didn't mean... Ah, shit.” 

“Don't say that.” She shakes her head, suddenly and inexplicably furious. “Of course you meant it. So did I. Not the first time one of use tried to exorcise someone – or something, what the hell do I know? – out of their system by chasing an orgasm.” 

He glances up at the last word, mouth hanging open a little. He's not taking issue with her harsh language, she's rather sure. She used him once; he'd been the type to let her, but the implication that he's done the same with her – she can see how that wouldn't sit right with him. Not anymore. Not after everything that happened, to them, between them, and around them. 

“I'm sorry,” he says. 

Raven rolls her eyes at him, doesn't care if the effect gets lost because he can't see much of it in the dim light. “You've got no reason to apologize. Willing participant over here.” 

It's not actually the same, not to him, and she see can see it written all over his face, flashing neon signs even in the dark. He's already feeling guilty, the echo of it pooling in his dark eyes and so, so obvious for anyone who knows how to read him. But he squares his jaw, meeting her gaze head-on. “So that's it, then? We're good?” 

“Of course,” she says, feeling herself soften while he reins himself back in. She raises an eyebrow at him and nods towards the entrance, and they both start walking. “Did it help?” 

He smiles at the repetition, like she hoped he would; the same question in a similar context, but everything else is different. They're different. Maybe the answer will be, as well. 

But the smile doesn't last, and he shakes his head. “I don't know. Not really.” 

They keep walking together in silence, until they reach her quarters, coming to a stand in front of the door. He shuffles his feet, looks at her from underneath his unruly hair; he might be trying for mischievous, teasing, but it falls flat. “Good night, I guess – “

That's about as far as he gets before she wraps herself around him once more, in a brief hug. For a moment, she stands there with her hand still on his upper arm, after, smiling at his slightly dumbfounded expression, before she draws back completely and turns to unlock the door. She retreats into the room without another word, but she listens closely until she hears his foot falls start back up and disappear down the hallway.


	2. Chapter 2

On the day Raven reinstalls the engine in what, hopefully, in the end, will be their first officially working car, she's got a captive audience. It wasn't her idea, of course. She made the mistake of mentioning it to Harper, who of course told Monroe and Miller, and things must have taken a life of their own at that point. The end result, in any case, is that they're all standing around to watch as she lowers herself onto her sled and to connect the last tubes and wires. Everyone's showed up: Monty, Harper and Monroe, Miller and Bellamy, who lingers by the door with his arms crossed in front of his chest like the exasperated teacher at a graduation dance. They haven't talked much the last few days, but she doesn't hold that against him. The first time they had sex it was a momentary distraction and a fumbling attempt at physical comfort. She meant what she said; she had no reason to assume this would be any different. 

Today's performance isn't hers alone, though. Sinclair stands bent over the engine, sleeves rolled up and arms covered in grease just like hers. He's grinning, clearly amused at the kids and their shenanigans but smart enough not to say so, and gives her an exaggerated, theatrical thumbs up. Raven rolls her eyes at him and the room in general. When she kicks herself off with her good leg so she can slide underneath the car, Monroe whoops, and the rest of them join in. Safely out of sight, Raven allows herself a wide, fond smile. They're all idiots, but dammit, they're _her_ idiots. She squints – the light that's flooding the holding bay that has been re-purposed as a garage is barely sufficient, falling through the open hood – and listens to their chatter while she's fiddles with the machinery. A couple times she calls to Sinclair for a different tool, and then she's finished. If she's done this right, they'll have a completely overhauled 100-year-old car at their disposal from here on in. 

Raven uses her arms to push back out, sits up, and nods her head at Monty. “Hey, Green, wanna see if it works? Key's in the ignition.” 

“Sure,” Monty says, looking around their group and starting towards the car. He crawls into the driver's seat and grins back at her, then turns the key, and the room erupts into more whooping and laughter when the engine roars. Harper high-fives Monroe. Miller mouths congratulations to her. Bellamy side-eyes them all and then shoots her a look that's half unsure, half conspiratorial. They're his idiots too. 

“Alright, alright,” Sinclair says, apparently having remembered that he's supposed to be the mature adult in the room. “Let's clean up. I'm sure you'll all have posts to get back to, right?” 

He offers Raven a hand and hauls her up, grip tight around her wrist. She settles in the passenger seat, exchanging a glance with Monty, and watches Sinclair putting the others to work: sorting tools away, unrolling a hose from the wall to clean the dirt from the ground of the garage. They manage to stay serious for about two minutes, but that's out the window when Miller turns around on his heels, grinning wide, and aims the water from the hose at Harper and Monroe instead. Both squeak and spring out of the way, running to hide behind Bellamy. Instead of hitting them, the concentrated stream of water hits him square in the chest. Miller laughs and apologizes, turning the water off; Harper and Monroe giggle. Bellamy stays rooted to the spot for just a second to long, gaping at the hose in Miller's hand, wide-eyed, then putting his own fingers to the soaked front of his shirt. 

Raven catches his eyes in the very moment he pulls himself together and makes a face, glaring the three of them down, one after the other. 

“Funny,” he says, and his voice is just a little too thin, slightly uneven. “Very funny.” 

But the atmosphere in the room has already changed. None of them are laughing anymore, and nobody seems to be able to come up with a rejoinder to break off the silence the room has lapsed into. When he realizes he's been put on the spot, all eyes on him, Bellamy sighs and turns, slowly walking out of the room. Several of the others visibly twitch with the urge to follow, but they don't actually move, exchanging puzzled glances. 

Raven reaches for her crutch and takes off after him. 

They play catch for half a hallway before he takes pity on her and and stops dead, turning to face her. He seeks out her gaze, but can't hold it, eyes falling away after a few seconds. “Don't ask. I know you're about to, but... please don't ask.” 

Part of being a mechanic is taking things apart, looking at them in a different context, and putting them back together so they work even when they shouldn't. She knows the reason why he's been off lately. No, that's not quite right; she knows where he changed, but she doesn't know _what_ caused that change.

“What happened to you up there?” She starts towards him, but comes to a halt when he takes a step back in turn. 

He bites his lips, shakes his head. He doesn't run away, exactly, but he starts walking again, and this time at a pace they both know she won't be able to match. 

 

*** 

 

When they were kids, Finn used to say that her stubbornness is simultaneously the best and the worst character trait of hers. She can't abandon a puzzle. She can't leave well enough alone. But most of all, she can't stop caring. 

Which is why, that evening, after the car has been appropriately christened with a shot of moonshine at the bar for each of them and a few cheers, she heads straight for Bellamy's room. He didn't show up again. She didn't think he would; licking his wounds in solitude, maybe feeling ashamed, is pretty much the reaction she pegged him for. 

Raven finds the door standing ajar, just a tiny crack, but enough to hear noises from inside, someone puttering around. She says his name, asks to be let in, and isn't particularly surprised when she doesn't get an answer. She knocks again. He tells her to get lost. She pushes the door open wide enough to step inside. 

There's a drawer by his cot still hanging open, full and unsorted and tangled sewing supplies. He follows her line of sight and pushes it closed, sits down on the cot, hands gripping the metal. 

“That yours?” she asks, not bothering to hide her skepticism. 

He shakes his head. “My mother's.” 

They hardly knew each other, up in space. She knows the bare bones of his past, like everyone does: on track for the guard, bumped down to janitor after Octavia had been discovered. Raven could ask why he kept this stuff – or gathered it, after the Ark came down, more likely. It's not like any of them had the chance to pack keepsakes. But she doesn't need to; it makes sense, fits right in with all the other puzzle pieces. Another set of memories that must hurt like hell, but that he keeps digging up anyway. 

She sits down next to him, a little too close. He doesn't move away, doesn't attempt to bring distance between them – not until she covers one of his hands with her palm. 

“What did I tell you about fussing?” he says as he draws back his hand and shifts closer to the wall, bringing one leg underneath himself. 

Not about to back down, Raven follows suit, although it's a bit of a production to get comfortable with her bad leg. “I'm not fussing,” she says once she's settled. “I'm concerned. I know you're hurting and I can't just stand by and watch it happen. Friends don't do that, you know?” 

He turns his head and fixes her with a look she can't quite read. “So that's what we are? Friends?”

“Of course,” she tells him, because if he still can't wrap his head around that after all this time, everything they've been through together, then he damn well _earned_ himself a lecture. “We have been – “

That's as far as she gets, and this time she doesn't even see it coming. One second she's all set to read him the riot act, the next he's leaning in, one hand coming up to wrap around her neck and draw her closer. This kiss is somehow quieter than any of its predecessors; like he doesn't plan on doing anything else about it this time, merely making a point. 

She licks her lips once they part. “Not _just_ friends, then.” 

Bellamy smiles and shakes his head. He raises his arm to make room for her, and she curls into him, closes her eyes. At some point, they may have to define exactly how much more than friends they are, discuss the ins and outs of whatever this might become. But not right now; her eyes are starting to feel heavy, and the last thing she's aware of is that he moves them into a horizontal position, nudging her gently until she's stretched out in his arms. 

 

***

 

Raven wakes with a start, and it takes her a few seconds to realize that her leg and hip are aching a little, due to lying in the same position for too long, but it's not her pain that's woken her. She blinks, her brain slow to remember why she's not in her own room and register the distressed noises coming from the other occupant of the cot. 

With some effort, she rolls over and finds that he's moved away from her in his sleep, back pressed to the wall, breathing heavily, one hand flailed out and fisting the sheets. She reaches down to wrap her own around it, uncurl his fingers and make him let go, and he flinches at the first touch but doesn't resist. Twining their fingers together, she puts her other hand on his hip, works it underneath his shirt to make the contact more immediate. His eyes fly open and his breathing speeds up further, but then he seems to recognize her, their eyes meeting in the dark, and he exhales, falls quiet, and screws them shut again. It feels like he's hiding, from her gaze, from knowing she's seen this, but she allows that, rubs tiny circles into his skin with her thumb until his chest rises and falls in an even rhythm and she's drifting back off herself. 

 

*** 

 

He's already gone in the morning, the space where he slept beside her not even warm anymore. Given the fact that this is _his_ room and he left her alone in it, Raven tries to interpret that as a show of trust rather than an escape. She lies still for another couple minutes, working through the events of last night and coming up with more questions than answers. Then she gets up, stretches and yawns, finds herself a comb in his bathroom to redo her ponytail and steps out of the door. 

The exact moment the door closes behind her, Octavia walks past, Lincoln in tow. Raven holds her gaze as realization dawns on Octavia's face – her brother already out and about, Raven's somewhat rumpled clothes after she slept in them, coming out of his room – and doesn't look away either when her expression shifts again, this time into a slight frown. She slows, looking Raven up and down like this is the first time she's seen her, until Lincoln pulls her along with a knowing smile. 

 

***

 

Raven's at her workstation, fiddling with the next engine, when the speakers announce a council meeting, listing her and Sinclair among the people whose attendance is required. That's not new; she's probably got Abby to thank for that, probably. Friendship, guilt, simple acknowledgment of her skill, whatever it is, Abby values her opinion. 

When she trails in the room after Sinclair, sans crutch today but loosely grabbing his arm for support, most of the others are already there. Naturally, that includes Bellamy; he glances at her, long enough to make sure she's met his eyes, noticed that he made the effort, and then directs his attention back to Kane, who's talking big business in turn with Abby. It takes Raven a few sentences to catch on, having arrived mid-speech. 

They're talking about the mountain. About politics. About how their frequent visits to the former could negatively affect the latter. 

In the following discussion, one thing becomes clear rather quickly: if they want to cut the cord in that regard, they need to figure out alternatives of coming by the supplies now easily offered by the old bunker. Medicine, spare parts – 

“We probably won't get to use the cars either,” Kane argues, “since there's no other way to come by fuel.” 

He has a point, but he's also wrong, Raven decides. They have a _space station_ at their disposal, one that has been tweaked for generations in order to ensure their continued survival for as long as at all possible. She steps forward, shaking her head. 

“We don't necessarily need fuel for them,” she says, everyone's heads turning her way. “There are solar panels everywhere. More than we need. I could install some of them on the cars. Not all of them, but we should be able to repurpose enough for two or three.” 

There's a quick show of hands – the Ark on the ground aims a little more towards democracy than it did in space – and then Abby declares her suggestion accepted. The rest of the meeting gets lost on Raven somewhat. She's too busy planning and plotting, laying out what she'll have to do, how to do it, what she'll need to get it done. If anything else important gets discussed, she figures, Sinclair will fill her in later. 

 

*** 

 

Even though she knows, logically, that the distance is about the same – or close enough that it doesn't matter – the stars look different from down here. Further away. Unattainable. She sits in the damp grass with her back against the hull of the Ark, squinting at the cloudless sky, and they seem like a distant dream rather than a memory. 

She can see Bellamy approaching in the light streaming out from the hallway, both the shape of him and the rhythm of his gait unmistakable to her at this point. He sits down next to her silently, nodding by the way of a greeting. His eyes flick towards her, then away. He clears his throat, but stays quiet after all. 

“It wasn't Finn, you know,” Raven says, taking pity on him, and points up at the sky. She can tell from the way his gaze follows the gesture, brows creasing together for a second, that she threw him for a loop, and so she elaborates. “The spacewalk. We thought I wouldn't get cleared, a tiny heart issue, and so he... it was his birthday present for me. Walking among the stars was all I ever wanted.” 

“Why did – “ Bellamy starts, but then shakes his head, understanding. “Your eighteenth birthday. They would have floated you straight away.” 

She nods. “I thought about it from every angle, since he died. What if we hadn't done it? He'd never been thrown into the Sky Box, he wouldn't have been sent down, and I wouldn't have had a reason to follow. He wouldn't have gone after Clarke and ended up in that village.”

“And you'd probably both be dead,” Bellamy continues that train of thought, and she turns her head a little, squints at him in the half-dark. “I mean, what are the chances you'd have been in the right place, at the right time, to come down with the Ark? At least down here, you both had a shot at surviving. That he blew his isn't your fault.” 

Raven shakes her head. Even though she knows he isn't _wrong_ , she can't quite bring herself to agree with that. He has the good sense to let the topic rest, and after a few moments of a silence that's heavy with meaning and unsaid words, she asks, “What did you want to talk about?” 

He takes a long breath and rises to his feet, offering her a hand. “Another time. Technically I'm still on rounds tonight.” 

Technically he isn't on anything, because while they have no qualms relying on the fact that he used to train for the Guard and the kids trust and listen to him, no one's given him an official position yet. But Raven knows better than to say that out loud. 

“I'll sit out here a little longer,” she tells him instead, ignoring his outstretched hand, and nods towards the stars. 

 

***

 

The knock on her door pulls her out of fitful, dreamless rest, a couple hours later. She couldn't haven been back in her quarters for long; it's still pitch-dark outside, and there's still noises wafting through the hallways from the bar when she opens it. 

Bellamy quirks an eyebrow and nods at the inside of the room, otherwise giving off the impression that this isn't a big deal, like he belongs here, as if they're doing this every night. He’s never lacked bravado, and Raven finds the fact that he's calling it up with her, now, here, both worrisome and amusing. 

She closes the door behind her and leans against the frame. “Couldn't sleep?” 

“Falling asleep isn't the problem,” he says, sitting down on her cot, and stares at her with a set jaw and that near-impenetrable air of confidence for a moment longer before he drops the act. He leans forward to run a hand down his face, looking away, and all of a sudden he just seems _tired_. 

“Well,” she says, carefully lowering herself to the cot next to him, “you're welcome to spend the night here whenever you like. Us being more than friends and all, that's probably appropriate anyway.” 

A small smile plays on his lip when he glances back up. “Probably.” 

She leans over to kiss him, quickly, just to see how it feels, whether it's become natural yet, or if it's still foreign; the result falls somewhere in between. Forehead resting against his, eyes remaining closed, she asks, “Want to tell me about it, or would you like me to distract you?” 

In lieu of a reply, he wraps a hand around her neck and drags her closer, initiating another kiss, this one decidedly more purposeful. He places his other hand on her chest, near her collarbone, gently pushes backwards to make her lie down. She shifts around so she's laid out on the length of the cot, good leg bent and the bad one flat on the mattress, giving him room to kneel between them. He sits back on his haunches and searches for her gaze, doesn't hesitate to pull his shirt over his head when she gives him a slight nod. 

Distraction, then. 

 

***

 

They both go their own ways the next morning. She heads for the makeshift shop to start working on the solar panels for the cars, spends the day shooting ideas around with Sinclair and cataloging what tools and spare parts they actually have to make this work; she doesn't ask where Bellamy goes. 

It's gotten dark again outside by the time he seeks her out at work. Sinclair looks up from their work and glances at both of them, mouths the obvious question at her when he thinks Bellamy isn't looking, which results in an eyeroll from the latter. Raven merely shrugs at both of them and goes back to the processor she was taking apart to see what needs rewiring. 

The next time she looks up, Bellamy's found himself a spot by the door, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, and it's quite impressive how someone capable of such a powerful presence, spellbinding a whole room with his words, can blend into the background just as easily. He smiles when he catches her gaze and she takes it as reassurance; he won't make a fuss and demand they leave. He just doesn't have anywhere better to be than here, with her. The thought is exhilarating and scary at once, but nevertheless, Raven smiles back. 

She doesn't keep track of how much time flies by while she works, tinkering, at this point, a game of trial and error and then fixing what goes wrong along the way. She ignores the first few twinges of pain that shoot up her leg, so distracted that they hardly register. The piercing pain that follows, however, isn't easily set aside. In the hopes of alleviating it, she skids around on her chair, redistributes her weight, and it works for a time, until she moves the wrong way and a stab of agony shoots up her spine, making her inhale sharply. 

Sinclair sets aside the plywood he'd been working on. Bellamy pushes himself off the wall and steps closer. She glances up and halts them both with a raised hand. 

“I'm fine,” she snarls, and while Bellamy steps back, unsure, with the guilt-stricken expression that always appears on his face whenever she shows discomfort regarding her leg, Sinclair stands, braces both hands on the work table, and shakes his head. 

“I know we're not on the Ark anymore, but I'm pulling rank.” He nods to Bellamy. “Take her back to her quarters, and make sure she puts the leg up and get some rest.” 

For a few moments, Bellamy's gaze sweeps from Raven to Sinclair and back, but then he strides up to her workstation and stares at her expectantly. “I'm not gonna _make_ you do a damn thing, but please come back to my room with me?” 

Raven blinks at him, a little nonplussed. She'd be tempted to flip him the bird, fuck this, her leg is none of his business, but the guilt that's still painted on his features makes her think twice and rise to her feet. 

They go to his quarters together that night. The next day, they go to hers, on her own time, without Sinclair's intervention. A week in, and two things happen: she stops keeping track of who spends the night at whose, and she stops anticipating that he'll change his mind, refuse to accompany her or close the door in her face instead of inviting her in. 

He comes to watch her work every evening; never nags at her to get going when he shows up or asks that she pack it in as well when Sinclair calls it a day. Sometimes, he'll bring a book, find himself a chair and sit just far enough that he'll catch enough of the light from her table lamp so he can read. If it gets late or he didn't sleep much the night before, he'll put said chair by a wall and lean against it to nap. He's not clingy, exactly, since he doesn't impose or control. He's simply _there_. Comfortable, quiet company. 

Raven figures she shouldn't be surprised; it's fitting behavior for someone who was basically forced, growing up, to spend every waking moment with the only other two people he was ever allowed to love. Of course that's become a habit. More than that, second nature. 

Either way, she doesn't mind. He's _there_ , and every day it gets a little easier to believe that he'll _stay_. 

 

*** 

 

The council meeting a couple days later is Guard only, plus Bellamy, and Raven doesn’t need to be told what it’s about. All shiny supplies aside, Mount Weather was a _military_ base. More weapons and ammunition than the Ark ever had lurk among food and medicine.

“We’re going tomorrow morning,” is all Bellamy says when he comes to find her at her workstation later, and before she can get a word in edgeways, he turns on his heels and walks back out.

The rest of the day, without her permission and against her will, the thought keeps slipping in whether she’d be entitled to talk him out of anything. He shouldn’t be up there; that fact screams in her face. Problem is, if he’d try and tell her what to do, she’d read him the riot act and proceed anyway, and that makes every attempt at changing his mind a bit hypocritical.

Reason has never stopped Raven Reyes from pursuing any dumb ideas, though, which means she calls it quits on work early that evening – inciting a pointedly raised eyebrow from Sinclair that she pretends she didn’t see – and heads right to Bellamy’s quarters. He takes one look at her, sighs, and steps aside.

“I don’t think you should –“ she starts as soon as the door’s fallen closed and they’re alone and away from potential eavesdroppers.

“And I don’t think that’s your call,” he cuts in. His voice is level, his expression closed off. He expected this argument.

Raven shakes her head, mostly at herself. Worst possible way she could have opened the conversation. “No. I know. But I’m worried, and I’m allowed to tell you that, right?”

He swallows, gaze darting down. Uncertainty flickers across his face before he builds himself up to full height, sets his jaw, and looks up again to meet her eyes. “And I’m worried about what you’re doing – or not doing, I guess – about your leg. Wouldn’t like it if I’d try and meddle with that, would you?”

She stares at him. The muscles in her leg twitch as if on cue, and she has to shift her weight, adjust her stance, and it makes cheeks go hot with embarrassment and anger at the same time. “That’s _not the same_.”

“Why?” Hand in his jacket pockets, Bellamy takes a step back. “Because that’s about you?”

And it's that, him putting physical distance between them, that makes her realize that she doesn't want to have this argument. Not just because they're fighting, and they've always done that, but now it's different because _they're_ different. What they mean to each other has changed, and here they are snapping at each other because they're worried. It's stupid. But they’re both stubborn and they’re both shit at admitting defeat or conceding a position, and so Raven does the next best thing, the one thing she’s capable of by the way of a collected retreat: she shoots him a seething glare, then wheels around and storms out of the room as fast as her legs carry her.

 

***

 

She only hears the knock on her door hours later, because it’s the first night she’s spent alone in weeks and it’s all _wrong_ and she hadn’t managed to fall asleep at all. She gets up, lets him in, and slips back under the covers. Neither apologizes, but she holds up the blanket and he crawls into bed and wordlessly fits himself against her. 

 

***

 

Bellamy is already up and dressed in the morning, complete with the thigh holster and the stolen Guard jacket he's been donning for as long as she's known him. She sits up and yawns, and he turns, gives her a strained smile, but cuts his eyes away as soon as she meets them. Forgiven, then, but not forgotten, and that's not going to stand. She won't let him go up there without clearing the air. 

“Last night was dumb,” she says, once again second-guessing her word choice _after_ the words are already out. She sighs, folds her good leg underneath herself and begins massaging the other to life. “I mean. Fighting like that.” 

He walks over, sits down beside her. Puts one hand on top of hers, stilling it, and laces their finger together. “I shouldn't have mentioned it. Not my place, especially given that I'm responsible – “

“Whoa, hold up, what do you mean you're _responsible_ for my fucked-up leg?” Raven cuts in, stunned. It's not entirely surprising; she's not exactly a people-person and often inept at decoding body language and non-verbal signals, but she's come to know _him_ and she recognized the guilt in his reactions more than once. It's another thing entirely, however, to have him say that out loud.

Bellamy shrugs his shoulders and frowns, and yeah, that's sort of a classic. Aware he's full of it, yet not anywhere near ready to admit as much. Frustration wants to bubble up in her, but she swallows it down with some effort and inches a little closer. The contact is meant to be reassurance; for him, or for herself, she's not quite sure. 

“If our positions had been reversed, would you have just sat idly by and watched me die?” she asks, and he shakes his head, frown replaced with bewildered disbelief. “Then what makes you think I could've done that with _your_ life at stake?” 

“I was in charge, and –“ he starts, and she doesn't let him finish that one either. 

“Bullshit.” It comes out a little too harsh, and she backpedals by inching closer and nudging him. He hesitates, but he does nudge her back, and Raven pulls their hands, still joined, deeper into her lap. “This,” she says, indicating her leg, “isn't your fault. I came up with the plan that put me underneath those floorboards in the dropship. Murphy pulled the trigger. All you did was try and save Jasper. I don't blame you, and I won't let you blame yourself either.” 

Outside the door, someone shouts, followed by a bustle of activity. The trips up the mountain have everyone tense, even those who had nothing to do with what happened up there. Trepidation, spreading like a virus. Bellamy's eyes flit to the door and he untangles their fingers and makes to stand up, but when he glances back to her, his expression grows a little impish. 

“Well,” he says, drawing the word out, and Raven swats at his thigh by way of a preemptive strike for whatever's going to come out his mouth next. He evades her, undeterred. “It's not like you've ever done anything I told you to do, anyway.” 

Raven squints at him, doing her best to look as obnoxious and self-satisfied as possible. “Damn straight. Now you're getting it.” 

 

***

 

Despite the early hour, the sun's already out and heating up the husk of the Ark when the group for Mount Weather gathers the next morning. They all heard about the longer and shorter nights, depending on the seasons, when they were in school up in space, but that can't compare to experiencing how the nights grow shorter and it's bright daylight at an hour that would have found them still cloaked in darkness soon after they arrived. 

Raven watches from a distance as the car is packed. Bellamy glances back at her when he opens the back door, flanked by Kane, Miller and four guards whose names Raven didn't care to memorize. He shoots her a reassuring smile, and on impulse, she scrambles off in direction of the car, stopping right in front of him. She feels the questioning looks all around them. A few of these questions are about to be answered. 

She looks at him, eyebrows raised, cocks her head, and he must have guessed her intentions because he gives her a small, near imperceptible nod, and she leans in to kiss him, right there, in front of everyone. As they part, she takes his hand and squeezes it once; meager in terms of showing her support, but it's not like he'd accept much more. 

“Guess we've just gone public,” he says, squeezing back, still smiling, before he pulls his hand away and climbs into the car. 

 

***

 

After they've left, long out of sight, Raven stays outside. She finds herself some circuits to tinker with and a tree to sit under, and very pointedly doesn't shoot futile worried look at the path the car took. It's already heating up, another day of impossible, pressing heat, when she hears the dry grass rustle a few feet away. 

Octavia plops down next to her, sits with her legs crossed and and her hands clasped in her lap, and cocks her head at Raven. “So it's a thing, then? You and my brother?” 

“Yes.” Raven puts down the circuit she was poking at and instead gives her all to holding Octavia's gaze. She's not sure what she expects; neither Blake is easy to read, and she's had far less experience with predicting Octavia than she has with Bellamy. “We are.” 

Glancing down, Octavia picks up a couple of blades of grass. She rubs at them, discarding the ones that are dry and cracking under such small pressure, and then brings two of them to hour mouth, blowing at them. Through them. It looks odd. 

“Lincoln taught me how to do this. They're supposed – ah, obviously I need more practice.” With a small frown, she discards them, and rubs the whole mess she produced with the grass off her legs. “I think it's good. That he has someone, other than me.”

She averts her eyes and picks at the grass some more, not testing anything now, just pulling out blade after blade and throwing them away. There's more to that statement, and Raven doesn't need to know Octavia too well to figure that one out. It's enough that she's been paying attention to _Bellamy_. 

“I'll look after him,” Raven says. “When – if, I don't know – you decide you want to leave.” She shakes her head and thumbs her head against the tree. “Don't ever tell him I said that.” 

“Wouldn't dream of it,” Octavia replies, and she looks calmer now, relived. She narrows her eyes and grins, the same glint in her eyes that her brother has before he makes a particularly lame joke. “As far as I'm concerned, this whole conversation never happened. Deal?” 

Raven nods solemnly. “Deal.”


	3. Chapter 3

There are no official announcements over the return of a group of scavengers from the mountain, but the news spread like wildfire every time, anyway. Someone will spot them trailing down the road that leads through the woods and to the Ark, and whispers will carry the news down the lane, where they turn into shouts that can be heard through the hallways. Raven makes a point of not waiting at the gate. She doesn't even plan on leaving her workstation, at least not until she feels Sinclair's eyes practically boring holes into her forehead. 

She glances up, scowling. “What?” 

“Listen,” he says, and Raven spontaneously decides she would rather not. But she has some tact, so she inclines her head and waves a hand, and he continues. “If you don't go out there and assure yourself that he's okay, back in one piece or whatever's had you so wired the last two days, then I'll have to watch you fidget for a couple more hours.” He pauses, takes the time to give her a distasteful frown, underlining how undesirable he finds the prospect. “And I'm really not sure I can take much more of that.” 

Raven considers protesting, but... now that Finn's dead, Sinclair is the person who's known her the longest, and she assumes that would be futile. She gathers her tools together and rises unceremoniously to her feet. She grasps her crutch – it's that kind of day – and takes off in direction of the garage with measured, unhurried steps. 

At her arrival, both Bellamy and Miller turn their heads, abandoning the crates they're in the process of unpacking while the rest of the guards pay her no mind. Miller makes a comment that she's still too far away to hear. Bellamy shoves at his elbow instead of replying, and he looks... normal. Not overly stressed, or haunted, or anything else. Raven chides herself for ever expecting otherwise; course he doesn't. He can do a stellar poker face if he so chooses, and he's had ample practice at keeping secrets. 

Their hello is brief. A one-armed hug, her hand lingering on his arm because she's not quite ready to break contact yet, but no kiss or big gestures. Miller deems it necessary to shoot them a suggestive eyebrow wiggle, regardless, and Raven supposes there's more of _that_ in their future now that the delinquents know they're together. 

Bellamy ignores him and turns back towards Kane, points at the door in a silent request, and, when Kane nods, starts in direction of the hallway and the living quarters. 

 

***

 

That night, Raven wakes with a start, disoriented, and doesn't manage to figure out what rose her until it happens again: a strike of lighting, illuminating everything for a few seconds, accompanied by loud, rolling thunder, echoing off of itself and slow to die out, and the patter of heavy rain on the metallic hull of the Ark.

Thunderstorms. Another one of these earth things that they all _knew_ existed from the history books, but experiencing them is a different thing altogether.

“I could tell you a handful stories from the top of my head,” Bellamy says, and Raven startles again; it's not like she'sforgotten he's there, but this thing is still new enough that she doesn't immediately _expect_ him to be around whenever she opens her eyes either. “In which angry gods strike down their subjects with thunder and lightning.”

She lifts herself up onto her elbows and glares. “Very comforting, Blake.”

“Don't worry.” He puts a hand on her collarbone, pushes her back down, and bites his lips as he visibly fights to keep a straight face. “I'll protect you.”

Raven answers that with a scowl and a huff, but she lets herself be arranged to his liking, until she's settled with one of his arms as her pillow, him lying on his side, his other arm planted between them. He leans in and kisses her, quickly, and the expression on his face when he pulls back scares her for no reason she can pinpoint. The amusement from having teased her is gone, but he looks... open, for lack of a better word. Devoid of walls and protections, laying himself bare.

“How long have you been awake?” she asks.

“Since before the storm,” he replies, and Raven wishes she could be surprised.

She doesn't ask why he didn't wake her up; they're similar enough that she understands how being a nuisance on someone is hard, how depending on someone is scary, even though she hopes he knows that she'd gladly offer her help whenever he can bring himself to ask for it. She lifts her neck and rolls off his arm, reaches out and runs her hand down the other, unfolding it and guiding him so that his head ends up resting on her shoulder instead.

Another bright stroke of light flashes through the room, chased by another crack of thunder and another crescendo as the wind pitches the rain against the hull. “Anything I can do?”

He burrows into her, making himself comfortable, finding the best position, and then she feels more than hears him inhale; his breath puffs out hotly against her skin. “Things didn't really go as planned,” he says. “Up on the mountain.”

“That's a bit of an understatement,” Raven says, and realizes that she chose the wrong reply when he stiffens against her. She puts a hand on his head to keep him in place before he can even try and retreat, tangles her fingers in the hair at his neck, playing with the messy strands. “Hey. I'm sorry. Tell me what this is about.”

The seconds tick by, thunder building up again in the distance, and Raven worries she ruined the moment. Then he inhales again, exhales, and continues. “Some nights I see their faces. Not the guards and soldiers, but the civilians. The people who hid us. Maya and her father.”

They all have blood stains on their conscience. Raven doesn't feel particularly bad about it, because she's not woven like that; it's not like she's unfeeling or doesn't have regrets, but she sees how far they've come, tells herself that it was kill or get killed, that being merciful would have come at the cost of losing more of their own. He's wired differently; he feels the weight of the deaths accumulating around them more fiercely. He feelsresponsible for everything. Heavy hangs the head, and all that.

“There was no other way out. They'd have killed us – Abby, _me_ – if you hadn't made that decision,” she tells him, gently. “And the other nights?”

His hand comes up to rest on her stomach, thumb brushing across her navel. “On our way to the woods, Lincoln gave me a summary of what happened in the mountain's intake procedure. You know, for the captured Grounders, before they end up in those cages. They were stripped. Doused down with hot water, disinfected with something that burns even worse, forcefully inoculated, poked and prodded like cattle.”

He moves his hand upwards and begins playing with the hem of her top; folding it around his finger, unfolding it, folding it again. She lets him take his time before he continues.

“We screwed up, in the tunnel,” he says, and it still sounds detached, like he’s telling her a story that happened to someone else. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe that’s the only way he _can_ tell her. “We got caught. And Lincoln... he wasn't strong enough. He lined up for his shot, with the Reapers. We didn't sneak in. They _took_ me in.”

It takes a moment before she connects the dots and the full impact of what he's saying sinks in.They took him in. Intake procedure. “Oh fuck, you – “

“Don't,” he cuts her off. His lashes tickle her skin as he closes his eyes, shifting again, and she takes the hint, pulls him closer and allows him to pretend he’s about to fall asleep.

She's still awake when the thunderstorm lessens – becoming little else than a distant growl, the sound of the rain soothing rather than a side effect of bad weather – and the night turns into dawn. Judging from the way Bellamy's breathing occasionally stumbles, chest heaving a few times in quick succession and then evening out, he doesn't catch much more real rest either.

 

*** 

 

It takes a few days before he's able to meet her eyes again. And much as she wants to, Raven doesn't push, doesn't bring it up, doesn't ask if he's okay. She sits on her hands and nearly bites her lips bloody, because patience still isn't one of her virtues and she's a fixer, she sees a problem and she wants to _solve_ it. But people don't work that way, and there's no equation or formula that will make this right. The human mind is kind of like the human body that way; it simply needs to heal, which takes time, and sometimes it doesn't happen at all and there's little anyone can do about that. 

She doesn't quite manage, however, to do _nothing_. One of the good things Finn taught her, via example and osmosis, was that relationships mean you don't patronize your partner, but you support them. She can't fix Bellamy. But she can offer to be his brace, his crutch. 

Raven finds him outside, chatting idly with Monty and Miller. He's smiling, easy and convincing for everyone who doesn't care to look at his eyes, at the lack of crinkles that means the smile isn't real. She swallows a twinge of guilt; she didn't _cause_ this. She listened, is all. He's the one who won't take weight off his bad leg, in a metaphorical sense. 

Walking up behind Bellamy, she wraps her hand around his, lacing them together, and stares the other boys down, daring them to say something, make fun, throw out a comment. Neither does, and Bellamy lets himself be pulled away with a mere glance back at them, saluting, and, if Raven knows him at all, rolling his eyes. Tough luck. Dating her involves her _caring_ , and if he hasn't wrapped his head around that yet then it's past time he does. 

She sits them down by another one of those trees as soon as they're out of earshot, and he sinks against the trunk, head dipped back, eyes skyward. 

“If this is about – “ he starts, but Raven cuts him off. She fixes his jaw between forefinger and thumb, and makes him look at her, grip growing firmer when he tries to jerk away. 

“Listen to me,” she says, and smiles, trying to telegraph moral support. It probably looks rather awkward, but he relaxes a little, stops resisting. “Just listen.” 

She lets him go, and he nods. 

“I'm not going to tell you what to do. I'm not going to make you give me promises I know you don't want to keep.” She pauses, lets that sink in before she continues. “But I'm asking, from here on in, that you'll let me join you every single time you go back to the mountain. And I'm asking that you'll tell me if you're not doing well. Talk to me. Let me be there, let me _help_. You're not in this alone, and I need you to see that.”

He looks at her blankly for what seems like a long time. Then he does avert his eyes, hands balling into fists in his lap. While she waits him out, Raven clings to the fact that he doesn't shoot her down outright, that he's _thinking_ about it, allowing the possibility. 

Then he meets her eyes, and he gives her a smile, strained and still a little haunted, but genuine. “Okay,” he says. 

Raven shifts and curls into him a little closer, squeezing his hand. 

Over by the Ark entrance, Monty and Miller are still staring. She can't quite see their expressions, but she likes to think it's curiosity, fondness and concern. It's then that she realizes how right she is; Bellamy's not alone, and neither is she. They have friends. They have people who care. They have a _family_. 

It's just not the same they fell to earth _for_. It's the one they fell to earth _with_. 

 

***

 

He pays her back roundabout a week later, wordlessly snatches her from a table at the bar where she'd been sitting with Monroe and Harper. Raven makes a small indignant noise and bats at his hand where he's gripping her arm with light pressure; she could resist, free herself easily. She doesn't. She hears Monroe and Harper laugh as he drags her away. They're giggling, really, like the school girls they technically are, age-wise. 

Once he notices she's following him willingly, he lets go of her, merely marches ahead to show her the way. She expects to be led outside, or back to either of their quarters, but she quickly recognizes the hallway they're walking down as the way to the garage, and she stops, arms crossed across her chest. 

“What the hell are you doing, Blake?” she inquires, squinting at him. 

His face still doesn't give anything away, and he simply holds out his hand. “If you would, for once, just do as I asked and trust me, then you'll find out soon enough.” 

Raven spends a few more seconds giving him the stink eye, but his level of stubbornness rivals hers and she knows she wouldn't get anywhere if she'd make it a contest. And she _is_ damn curious. She does, however, ignore the hand he's still extending in her direction, and she thinks she sees his lip curve into a smile as she hobbles past him. 

“Fine,” she says in passing. “But no need for you to lead the way, I damn well know my way to the garage.” 

Said garage, once they reach it, doesn't look any differently than it does every other day. The cars – three are ready by now, a fourth is in the works – sit in the dark, same as they always do, while they wait for the overhead lights to spring to life. Raven glances to Bellamy, who's given up on the stony poker face, smiling at her expectantly now. 

He raises a hand, and it takes her a few seconds to recognize the object dangling from it as a set of car keys. 

The keys are kept in the Guard's office and only given out for driving lessons or expeditions; they're not just lying around for the taking. If he's got one, then he either stole it – which, well, he could have pulled that off – or someone _gave_ it to him. For whatever reason. A mission, maybe, but that wouldn't have him looking like it's her birthday and he's hiding a gift behind his back, waiting to hand it over and watch as she unwraps it. 

“Okay,” she says, confused. “Really. What's going on? How did you get that? Why do you have it?” 

Bellamy leans against the hood of one of the cars and waits until she's walked over and joined him before he replies. “I've been reading,” he says. “There are lots of books in the mountain. Some medical ones too, I knew Abby brought them back here, and I found one that said swimming might help.” 

Every word he speaks makes less sense. Cars. Books. “Swimming?” 

He points to the car's passenger cabin. Raven leans forward to follow his line of sight and sees a couple of bags stacked on the seats. Backpacks, nothing big, but they look full. Of what, she doesn't have a clue. 

“Yes,” he says when she glances back to him. “We're going on a trip.” 

Comprehension dawns. Raven remembers the last conversation they had about swimming, weeks ago, up in the mountain, while they stared at a painting. “Wait,” she says, her gaze darting from the bags to Bellamy and back. “You mean... to the sea?” 

He pushes himself off the hood and walks around the car, opening the door on the passenger side. “Exactly. I cleared it with everyone. We have a week before we're expected back here.” 

“I can't even swim,” Raven says, excitement coiling in her belly before she can tamper it, wrestle it back. She follows him around the car, but only to snatch the keys from his grip. “Also, _I'm_ driving.” 

Bellamy lets go of them easily, all but dropping them into her palm, and she gets the sneaking suspicion that he never actually _planned_ on driving himself, was just pulling her leg. Asshole. 

“Neither can I,” he says, stepping out of her way. “But we can learn, right?” 

 

***

 

They switch after a few hours, because the position behind the steering wheel, constricting and crammed, makes her leg hurt worse and that's the opposite of why they're out here. She knows Bellamy can see the lines that pain edges into her face, and she convinces herself she's doing him a favor as much as herself, and that makes it easier to admit her limitations, give in, let him help. That is, after all, what she demanded of him just a couple days ago. 

Warm air wafts in through the open passenger window as he drives. They're not traveling terribly fast because those cars are military vehicles and meant for heavy terrain, not racing, but she can watch the world rush by, head resting against the seat, the foot of her good leg propped up against the dashboard. She sees trees and fields and so many colors, lush green grass and leafs, pastel flowers and the endless blue of the sky. 

For the first time since she hurled herself down earth and landed in the middle of a budding war, the ground seems _peaceful_. Calming and beautiful and full of wonders, and suddenly it seems possible that maybe, just maybe, it might some day feel like home. 

 

*** 

 

By the time they reach the shore, it's getting dark. The first thing Raven sees of the sea is the image of a bright orange, _burning_ sun sinking into a dark blue sea, reflecting from its surface, and dipped into purple and pink where the two collide. She rises a little in her seat, levering herself up on the dashboard, and the water sings out to her like the stars once did. It seems just as infinite, reaching as far as the eye can see, its surface gently rippled by a sharp breeze. 

“Do you want to go in?” Bellamy asks, turning the engine off and pulling the key from the ignition. “Right now?” 

Raven contemplates that for a moment, but shakes her head. She's tired and she aches, and she doesn't want to meet the sea while she's exhausted. It doesn't seem right. “Tomorrow.”

Later, once they made themselves a little camp, dying embers of a fire between in front of them and the car parked at their back, the tent foregone tonight so they can fall asleep looking at the stars, Raven nudges Bellamy's shoulder with hers. 

“You know you don't have to make up for this, right?” She wriggles her keg. “Please tell me you understood, and that's not what this is.”

He leans in, kisses her, and seeks her gaze. He meets her eyes, she assumes, so she'll have an easier time believing him; they've learned each other quite well over the past few weeks. “No. I promise you, that's not why we're here.”

There's still a small part of her that wants to pry, wants to ask _then why_ , wants an explanation, but as he turns and she gets a better look at his face, bathed in the fading light of the fire, she's the one who _understands_. The lines around his mouth, his eyes, have smoothed out some. His eyes are drooping, making him blink faster than usual; he yawns, stretches and shifts. 

They're both here to learn how to swim, learn how to keep their heads above water, far away from judgment and responsibility and lingering guilt. This, too, won't fix them, but they'll go back home knowing that they _can_ stay afloat, and they _will_ , and the sea will be waiting for them in case they forget and need another reminder. 

 

***

 

The next morning, almost at first light, Raven nearly jumps to her feet, as much as that is possible, and drags Bellamy up alongside her with a hand around his wrist. She sheds her underwear once she's got him standing, laughs at him when he gapes at her, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with his knuckles. 

Naked as the day she was born, she hobbles her way across the sand, shivers when the water, colder than she expected, licks at her bare toes. Bellamy's catching up, one hand behind his back, and Raven points a finger at him, one eyebrow quirked. 

“What is that?” she demands. “You better not plan on throwing sand at me or something equally childish, because I promise you, my revenge will be swift and _terrible_.” 

“Oh no, I wouldn't dare,” he says and holds out his hand, opens it, revealing a thin leather string with a small silver medallion. It's egg-shaped, about the size of her thumb, slightly tinged at the edges, and engraved with a small figure. A man, wrapped in a cloak, holding a stick, sunbeams fanning out from a round halo. There's an inscription on the side, but it's faded and unreadable. “St. Jude,” he explains before she can ask. “The patron saint of lost causes. One of the expeditions into the nearby villages brought it back. I claimed it for you.” 

“Lost causes, huh? Very funny.” She snorts, but does lean forward so he can loop the string around her neck, joining the raven she still refuses to take off. “Besides, I don't recall saints being your area of expertise. They're not exactly part of ancient mythology.” 

Bellamy bends and splashes water at her, making her shriek. She stumbles, and he reaches out, both arms coming up around her waist, holding her to him. 

“I've been extending my horizons, while I was watching you work,” he says, grinning; it's a smug little thing that sits on his face like the faint shadow of a crown, the way she remembers from the early days. Back then it used to annoy her. 

She didn't realize how much she missed the sight.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://lostemotion.tumblr.com).


End file.
